Hygienically Challenged
by Buddy Williams
Summary: Many mutations have side effects. Toad's is no exception.


**Author's Note: **I figured I'd write this fic as vindication for all the insults people make about Toad's smell. I remember one author denouncing Todd as a creep because he "hates being clean". Well, instead of dehumanizing him, I decided to extrapolate on _why_ he smells so bad.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own X-Men: Evolution. If I did, Deadpool would be a regular character.

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Hygienically Challenged

I smell bad. It's a fact. I know it; my friends know it; everyone knows it.

I can't help it. That's another fact. I know it; my friends suspect it; no one else cares enough to realize it. They'd rather just assume I don't like being clean. They think I have some sort of creepy fascination with smelling bad. I don't. Lemme ask you something; who do you know would actually _like_ smelling like pond weeds and garbage? Who do you know would _enjoy_ everyone holding their nose around them and giving them dirty looks? Who do you know would _try_ to be so smelly that everyone judges them before they even know them? Nobody, that's who.

But they don't get that; the X-Geeks I mean. They don't apply that logic to me, which is pretty fucking hypocritical when you think about it. They're all, "Oh sure, Nightcreeper's okay, he can't help the way he looks. We should all just ignore the fur and the tail. It's not his fault. And poor Rogue can't touch, so it's not her fault she's so anti-social. She's just a victim of her powers, so everybody be extra understanding." But when they see me it's, "Oh, gross, it's Toad! That guy's a freak! What kind of scuzz-bag likes being smelly?" Yeah. That's real fair.

Actually, no, I'm not even gonna be sarcastic about it. It isn't fair, damn it! I'm in exactly the same position as Nightcreeper and Rogue are! Where's my fucking sympathy? Where's my compassion and understanding? Damn, self-righteous X-Nerds.

I shouldn't be dwelling on this. I been taking shit for how I smell for years, why crack now? Oh yeah. Now I remember. Today's that day; the day I got my powers. Seven years and one day ago today I wouldn't be having this problem. Before my mutation developed I was a normal kid. Well, as normal as you can get with a violent, alcoholic father and a prostitute for a mother. I took showers more often back then. Brushed my teeth more too. I don't think I smelled too bad back then. Then my mutation kicked in.

I remember the day it happened. At first I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I mean, all the sudden I can jump twenty feet into the air, stick to walls, and my tongue is ten feet long. I remember how much fun it was to leap and bound through the back allies. I even pretended I was Spider-Man for a little bit. Spider-Man with a really long tongue. When I got home though, everything went downhill. I was sweating from all the jumping around I had been doing, so I went to take a shower to clean off.

The first thing I realized was that the soap felt different than normal; slimier and greasier, almost. I didn't really think it was that big a deal though, so I washed up like normal and rinsed off all the suds. That's when I noticed something was defiantly wrong. I suddenly felt itchy all over, like there were little, tiny needles poking me. When I looked down, I noticed that big, splotchy patches of red were erupting all over my body. I panicked and tried to turn the water back on to sooth the uncomfortable itching sensations, but the second I moved it was like I was getting a full-body Indian burn.

So, I stayed as still as I could and watched as my skin started drying out and turning red. Pretty soon my skin was so dried out that it was cracking. No joke, my skin was literally cracking open like that dried out mud you see in pictures of deserts. If I had thought the "Indian burn" pain was bad, this was hell. Think of the worst sunburn you've ever had, and then imagine it all over your entire body. Now make it twice as painful. That's about how I felt.

My momma found me in there a few hours later, standing stiff as a statue, barely breathing. She dragged me to the local clinic as fast as she could, but I don't remember much 'cause I passed out from the pain on the way there. When I came to, the doctors explained to me what was wrong. They said I had, "Spontaneously developed severe allergies towards most bases" which is just a real fancy way of saying that soap hurts me.

I was in a full-body gauze wrap for weeks while the doctors ran a few tests. They found out that there are a few types of soap that I can use without hurting myself, and one kind of toothpaste that won't hurt me either. The only problem is, the soap is some weird fancy-shmansy French stuff that comes in a bottle smaller than my hand, and the toothpaste is available by prescription only. That's bad because now, like back then, I ain't exactly made of money. Things at the Brotherhood house have always been kinda tight, so most of what I make relieving people of their wallets goes toward keeping us fed and the bills paid. What little I keep for myself takes about a month to add up to enough to buy the soap, but by the time I have enough to by it I need to use the whole bottle to get clean. It's a vicious cycle, really.

The guys get it though. They don't give me as much grief as everyone else does. Sure, they tease me about it; call me "Slime-Ball" and "Frog-Breath", but that's just them screwing around, like we call Pietro "Speedy Gonzales" and Fred "Wide-Load" and Lance "Rock-Head". So, I guess if the guys get me then it isn't all bad. I shouldn't be making such a big deal out of it. Like my momma used to tell me, "Damn it you pussy, stop your crying or I will beat your miserable hide to within an inch of your life!"

My momma always gave the best advice.

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**Author's Note:** Yeah. That's some deep shit right there.

Yo, reada' hook me up wif sum o that review shit…. I need my fix, man!


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